


The Cliffs of Delphi: Cheating Louses

by GreyLiliy



Series: The Cliffs Of Delphi [16]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dubious Consent, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarn often forgets how young Pharma is, and that his affections are not quite as returned as he would like. Pharma and Tarn are both reminded what a petty, jealous man Tarn can be when hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pharma

**Author's Note:**

> It took me a month, but I wrote it. XD All for you, Rothinsel. All for you. This is based on a dirt old RP we did way back when (over a year) that I said I’d transcribe/adapt properly to match the other finished works of Cliffs of Delphi. Finally getting around to it. Heh. All I really remember is this is one of the few RP’s we did where I played Pharma instead of Tarn. Ah well, enjoy!

Pharma sipped the tea, slow and even as he ignored Vos standing at attention in the corner of the room. The wretched quiet of the house rang in his ears as he waited in Tarn’s office. Alone in the mansion, Pharma waited.

The clock struck ten, the chimes of it echoing around him. Each beat a hammer to Pharma’s bored mind.

Tarn had said he’d be there at four. Six hours of waiting from fear Tarn would come and catch him sneaking away. But honestly, ad Pharma knew the man would be this late getting in from town, he would have stayed at his asylum and not bothered. Even Tarn couldn’t have blamed him for canceling under these circumstances. Pharma glanced at Vos, the living statue in the corner. Well, if that were to be his only company for the night, he might as well make sure Vos shared in his misery.

“If Tarn planned to be this late, wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to pick me up on his way home?” Pharma scoffed, taking another long sip of the tea. “The asylum’s on his way home, if I recall.”

“As I mentioned earlier,” Vos said, voice ice. He crossed the room, every inch of him on edge. The man refilled Pharma’s tea, adding the proper amount of sugar without reminder. Vos said, “Master Tarn had to leave unexpectedly just before you arrived. There was hardly time to inform you of the change in plans.”

“Naturally,” Pharma said, sipping his tea. He concentrated on the sound of the pouring rain on the windows, rattling with the wind, to avoid looking at Vos’ smug face. “Forgive my poor memory.”

The butler did not grace Pharma with a reply. Instead, Vos straightened, head tilted toward the door. He placed the kettle back on the tea tray and bowed at the waist. Vos said, “Excuse me.”

The door clicked shut behind him as Vos left, and Pharma slumped into his seat. He turned the tea cup around in his hands, lying his head back against the head rest. Pharma licked the side of his teeth. “Suppose that means the master’s home.”

He waited for another five or so minutes before the study door burst open, carrying with it the monstrous form of Tarn. The man, soaked to the bone and tracking mud, gave no pause to glance at the doctor. Pharma stilled on the couch, watching the man’s form. The tense shoulders, the twitch under his eye. Tarn ripped open the side of his liquor cabinet and pulled down a single glass and his favorite brandy.

Pharma swallowed a mouthful of tea to steady his nerves. He offered what little he could to keep the peace. “I take it you had a rough evening?”

“You could say that.” Tarn poured the whisky, the contents overflowing from the edge of the glass. The sloppy pour stained his desk table. Tarn slammed the whisky bottle on the edge of the desk. “Such a shame considering how pleasant it all started. The hunt went spectacularly, and the boys and I treated ourselves to quite the round of well deserved drinks at a favorite bar. Wonderful time, if I do say so myself.”

“It did not stay that way?” Pharma asked, clutching the tea cup with both hands. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears under his ribcage. A drip of brandy rolled off the side of the desk and hit the carpet. It took Pharma’s stomach with it; straight to the floor. “May I ask what happened?”

“Age. Age is what happened,” Tarn said. He tossed back the entire shot of brandy in a desperate gulp. He poured another cup, once again too distracted to care for the liquor that spilled over the side. “My old bones, they told me to pay attention. And I listened. Like a fool I listened to them.”

“What did they say?” Pharma whispered.

“To look around,” Tarn said. “And for a brief moment, I fell for their trap. I ran into someone, you see. Someone who’s company I usually quite enjoy! But oh, not tonight. Not after the things I heard come from her lips.”

“Her?” Pharma asked, narrowing his eyes. How many women did Tarn know? Pharma couldn’t quite recall the man having female company over. He was a bit taken with Arcee at the asylum but she was locked away. “Who did you see?”

“I had the pleasure of running into Miss, ah. Do forgive me! Misses Aid,” Tarn said, something light in his voice. “Such a charming women, but so very sad as of late. We had quite the enlightening conversation this evening.”

Pharma swallowed, willing his hand to stop shaking. The tea in his glass rippled all the same with every tremble in his skin. Pharma asked, “Oh? I had thought she was doing better. With the baby and all.”

“Little Blades, yes. I hear he’s quite healthy,” Tarn said. He wrapped his fingers around the top of his glass. Tarn twisted the shot glass in a small circle in the puddle of brandy on his desk. “But even such a passionate and strong woman can only bear so much when it comes to a cheating spouse.”

Pharma’s heart skipped a beat.

“But you would know all about that,” Tarn turned his head toward Pharma. The sheer rage hiding behind his eyes betrayed the calm, amused expression plastered across his painted face. “Wouldn’t you?”

Pharma’s eyes widened, the swarm of thoughts that overtook his brain almost too much to bear. Tarn could be referring to any number of things, but Pharma had a feeling he knew just which one.

But it could still have been anything…Who knows what that blasted woman sobbed to Tarn this afternoon! No. Best to assume the worst and remember that if he didn’t lie well and lie now he and Ambulon both would be dead by the morning.

Assuming Tarn was kind.

“Cheating?” Pharma forced a laugh and shook his head. “Come now! They’re having a rough patch, but Ambulon would never. He’s not the type.”

“I’m sure if he had even the inkling, he would have told you, this much is true,” Tarn said. He poured a third drink. “Misses Aid did mention you two had been spending, ah, time together. Chatting and catching up. I suppose she came up in those discussions?”

“Of course,” Pharma said. “We are friends, and he’s having difficulties at home. It helps to chat about it.”

“And that’s all?” Tarn asked, hand wrapped around the cup.

Flashes of Ambulon’s desperate eyes, and memories of his warm mouth pressed against Pharma’s entered his mind like forbidden treats. All at this worst moment did Pharma remember it all; their latest meeting:

Angry words. Fights over their brief moment together at Ratchet’s Christmas party. Ambulon’s fears that they had been overheard by his wife. Her chill. The baby he wished had been Pharma’s and not his own. Pharma’s jealousy over the same. The heated arguments.

The groping hands that they both shared as they climbed into each others laps. So angry. So desperate. Mouths joined, hot breath. Fingers in his red hair. Pharma’s knees around Ambulon’s waist. The wretched barrier of clothing between them. Biting. Nipping. The ripped open shirt and the suck of Ambulon’s lips against Pharma’s neck.

The cry of a baby.

The reality of them both coming to focus. Ambulon, the married man so desperate for Pharma’s affection. And Pharma. The good doctor. The man with his—

“Was that all?” Tarn repeated. Pharma jerked, sloshing a bit of tea over the side of his cup. “Or have you fallen asleep on me?”

“That was all,” Pharma said. He raised a hand to touch his lips. “We spent the evening watching his child and talking about his wife while Aid went out with Ratchet. That’s all.”

“Always so charming,” Tarn said, throwing his head back with a laugh. He covered his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, dear doctor. How adorable.”

Tarn threw his glass of brandy at Pharma’s feet, the cup shattering around his ankles.

Pharma was half to his feet when Tarn appeared before him. The giant removed Pharma’s cup from his hand and set it gently on the tea tray just to the side. Pharma remained frozen in place, one hand on the back of the couch. Tarn grabbed Pharma’s leg and yanked it up and to the side, laying Pharma flat on his back on the couch. Tarn slammed his hands on either side of Pharma’s head, pinning him to the furniture.

The couch whined from the force of Tarn’s hands digging into the wooden armrest.

“I ask you one more time,” Tarn said, the bubbling anger just below the surface ready to boil over. “Was that all?”

“Surely you must suspect something else if you’re throwing things,” Pharma hissed. His breath caught in his throat. His mouth betrayed him again. Words as good as a confession spilling forth. Pharma shook his head and swallowed. “What is it you think happened?”

“Say it,” Tarn demanded.

Pharma held his tongue. 

“If there is more,” Tarn growled. He grabbed Pharma’s face, digging his thumb into the cheekbone and squeezing. Tarn twisted Pharma’s face to the side. “I suggest you admit it now.”

“And what good would that do?” Pharma asked through gritted teeth.

“You’ve learned nothing have you?” Tarn asked, slamming Pharma’s head into the arm rest of the couch. Pharma’s vision blacked out for a moment. Tarn winded his fingers into the hair on the back of Pharma’s head. He tightened his hold. “There is nothing you can hide from me. Do you honestly think me such a childish fool?”  
“Never,” Pharma said. He sucked in a breath and dared to salvage this nightmare before it worsened. Pharma asked, “What does it even matter? It’s so long ago now, and over. Nothing came of it.”

“It does matter, oh does it matter and I’ll be oh so happy to tell you why,” Tarn whispered in the back of Pharma’s hair. He nuzzled the red strands, far too tenderly for his anger. “But first, perhaps you should get comfortable. It’ll be a long explanation, I fear.”

Tarn shoved Pharma’s face into the mattress. Nose and mouth covered, the thick fabric trapped his breath in his lungs.

“Fighting for air may clear your head, I think,” Tarn said. Pharma shoved his hands at the mattress, twisting his body to free himself. Tarn crushed his head farther into the mattress. Pharma’s lungs burned, and Tarn’s voice muffled from the headache and the clawing fear at every inch of his nerves. “The need for survival does wonders for listening comprehension.

“I did think on it all for quite some time,” Tarn continued. Pharma felt weight on his back as Tarn leaned over him. His body screamed for air, but he was only rewarded with a crushed nose and Tarn resting a cheek on the back of his head. “It was a past action. It shouldn’t matter now, especially not after your change of heart lately. But, but I am afraid I must admit that I am childish.”

Tarn lifted Pharma’s face from the couch by the back of his hair, leaning off him just enough that Pharma could gulp down a mouthful of air.

Only to be denied again; Tarn shoved his face back into the fabric.

“To my great misfortune, I found myself unspeakably jealous,” Tarn said. Pharma clawed at his arm, snaking his arm around. It was as effective as fighting a boulder with a blade of grass. Tarn continued to hold Pharma’s life hostage as he spoke to the wall. “I really, truly should not care about your little dalliances with that wretched assistant of yours. I shouldn’t. But yet, I’ve found myself once breaking his arm for daring to love you, and now the unspeakable things that I find myself wanting to do to you both after hearing Misses Aid’s sorrowful tale. And even then, I ought not to care. Do you know why?

“You’re young. So very young that I often forget I have at least four decades more of experience than you,” Tarn said, allowing Pharma another gulp of air. Tarn allowed him to greedily drink his fill before shoving his cheek into the mattress. Grateful for air, despite the discomfort, Pharma kept his mouth shut. Tarn continued, an odd nostalgia in his voice. “Why, when I was your age I had countless lovers. I indulged for years, enjoying the various fruits different people had to offer. Experimenting, if you will. Something that I do recall you had been denied.

“I remember, you know,” Tarn said, leaning down to Pharma’s ear. “Of how your full sexual experiences could be summed with with tales of old women molesting a child, and your pathetic attempts at courting the once Miss Aid that I witnessed first hand.”

Pharma coughed, squirming as Tarn kept his cheek held to the couch.

“Ah, where was I?” Tarn asked. He chuckled, a hollow sound that filled Pharma’s aching ears. “Sorry, I got lost in the memory of killing all those women who touched you when you were young.”

Pharma breathed heavily, dizziness keeping him from answering.

“Come now,” Tarn said. He dug his elbow into Pharma’s back, gaining a yelp out of Pharma. “You need to concentrate. I’m an old man and seem to have grown found of rambling in my age. It’s your job to listen.

“Ah, maybe we could try that water trick of yours from the asylum to jot your memory,” Tarn said. The mud from his coat flaked off onto Pharma’s face as he moved. “The one with the ice water you were so fond of. A chill to bring logic back to the senses!”

“Never,” Pharma wheezed, “worked.”

“Shame,” Tarn said. He stood, and helped himself to a seat on Pharma’s back. A new form of suffocation as Pharma desperately tried to keep himself pushed up enough so that Tarn’s weight wouldn’t crush his ribs. Pharma whined, the threat of a broken back far worse than drowning in a cushion. Tarn hummed, “But ah yes! Youth. I was remember your age.”

Pharma dug his forehead into the cushion and tried not to cry. Tarn would kill him. He was going to kill him. This was all some form of slow torture.

All for some forsaken kiss between him and Ambulon.

“It’s only natural for the young to long for variety,” Tarn said, almost wistfully. “To want the touch of another.

“But then,” Tarn paused. He crossed one leg over the other, digging his hip into Pharma’s back as he shifted his weight. “You see then I remembered that first moment when I realized that no one would ever kiss like you do. That shocking, heart stopping moment when I knew that no one else would ever taste as good as you do.

“The moment I realized I could never have another, the way that I had you.”

Pharma gasped, sucking in a loud breath when Tarn stood. The man leaned down, collecting the bits of broken glass from his previously forgotten cup. Tarn sighed, “It was such a horrifying revelation, you see, because I had tried. I tried so hard to find another and convince myself it wasn’t true.

“But I failed,” Tarn said. He dumped the glass shards on his desk top. He ran his hand along the edge of the desk. “I was a fool to think any of my old things could compare to you. I gave it all up for you, just to keep you. My basement collection, my toys. The prisoners I kept—all gone because you disliked them. Oh, how you tamed me, good doctor.

“That’s why it matters,” Tarn said. He set both hands on the edge of the desk. Pharma remained limp on the couch, fingers twisting into the cushions. Tarn smiled softly. “Surely you can’t blame me for being jealous when I’m told that the lips so often unwilling to kiss my own, could be sucking off some other man so eagerly in the dark?”

Pharma pushed himself up on shaking limbs. He leaned against the back of the couch, pulling his leg up to his chest. Pharma covered his mouth with his hand and willed the bile to stay in his stomach.

Tarn stared at the broken glass. “All that and still nothing to say?”

“There is nothing I could say that you would want to hear,” Pharma said through his fingers. He dropped his head against the side of the couch.

“Try me,” Tarn said. He dropped his head, and dipped a finger into the spilled brandy drying on the wood of his desk. “One time, if only just once, you admitted that you loved me. And yet we have this. Do tell an old man what’s going through your mind.”

“I don’t know. It was just a few kisses. Nothing real, nothing…I don’t know,” Pharma whispered. He thought of Ambulon’s warm eyes. His fear of being caught. His terror at the thought Pharma would tell him “No.” Ambulon’s adoration, his love. The man’s blasted adorable child that craved his father’s love and slowly found himself finding none. Pharma thought of Ambulon. He thought of Tarn. Pharma choked, “I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t just a few kisses, was it?” Tarn asked.

“Mostly,” Pharma whispered. Had there been more? The first time they had both been so drunk it was hard to tell. But the second, for sure there hadn’t been more. They almost…they had been so close but the baby. The baby stopped them. Blades saved them. He did. Pharma bit his lip. “Just, passionate kisses.”

“Your lies hurt me, they really do,” Tarn said. Turning to a beast, he ripped the desk off the ground and threw it to the side. The crash of it sounded louder than the thunder outside. “Makes me want to shove your face into the wall instead.”

“What do you want me to say?” Pharma asked. He sucked in a breath, grabbing the back of the couch. He stood on shaking limbs and shouted back. “We got drunk during a conversation of ‘what if’ that ended in something impossible and stupid for the both of us. All it left us was regret and pain. What good comes from that? What could we do with that!?”

“How about a repeat attempt at your what-if?” Tarn snorted, cruel and angry still. “What are the odds of that?”

“I don’t know,” Pharma said, honestly. Lies had gotten him in enough trouble. “I can’t make promises for things I can’t foresee. I barely knew the first ones were going to happen.”

“What if I can’t promise that I won’t break both of his arms?” Tarn asked, lifting an eyebrow. He walked around his broken desk, hands in the air. “Won’t have to worry about holding that child of his, will he? No, better. What if I can’t promise that I won’t snap his fingers at each joint. Maybe the knee?”

Pharma laughed, digging his hands into his own hair. “And you wonder why I wanted to withhold the details.”

“I want to know how far you took him, how eagerly,” Tarn said. He growled. “I want to make sure that the things I’m imaging are far worse than what happened.”

“Drunken kisses,” Pharma hissed. “That’s all.”

“And should I corner him and find out that more happened?” Tarn asked. “Then what? Because right now all I’m hearing from you is lies, and Misses Aid was quite clear about what she heard in Ratchet’s office during Christmas.”

Pharma stared, mouth open. That damned man Ambulon and his baby came to the front again. Pharma dropped his arms and shook his head. “If there was more, it was during the first time at the Christmas party. And I don’t remember that entire night. We were drunk, Tarn. I can’t recall how far we got, but I can promise you that we only did something twice.

“And the second was only a few brief moments of our mouths meeting,” Pharma laughed. “The baby. We were watching the baby and he cried before anything got farther. I swear.”

Tarn stared at Pharma for a full minute, the gears twisting in his brain. Pharma held his breath, waiting for his final judgement.

The taller man walked to Pharma and placed a heavy hand on Pharma’s bony shoulder. He leaned down and whispered, “Should Ambulon tell me otherwise, I do believe you’ll be helping Misses Aid pick out a black dress in the near future.”

Tarn squeezed Pharma’s shoulder and walked out the door.

Pharma fell to his knees, flinching at the slam of the door. He covered his mouth with both his hands and listened to the pounding rain on the shudders. Pharma curled over and dug his forehead into the carpet. He wrapped himself in his arms and heaved shaken breaths in and out.

He sobbed.


	2. Tarn

Prowl turned the page in his book, the lamp light glowing softly on the table. The thunderstorm just outside his window made for wonderful ambient noise. A calming, soothing backdrop to accompany his evening review of reports.

He found himself ill prepared for company, however.

The wrapping, banging on his door was louder than the thunder outside. It shook Prowl’s door to the very hinges, threatening to break it down.

Prowl found himself even more ill prepared for unwelcome company.

He pulled his pistol from its holder and held it just out of sight at his back. The pounding continued, demanding and constant. Prowl twisted the knob, pulling the door open. He nearly dropped his pistol at the towering figure just behind the wood.

“Tarn?” Prowl asked, his finger holding itself over the trigger. What madness was this at his door? “What are you doing here?”

“It seems I’ve found myself in need of company,” Tarn said, something bloodshot in his eyes. The man’s clothes were caked in mud, and the make up he so carefully applied daily dripped down his face from the rain. Prowl took in a peak at Tarn’s true face, seeing scarring through the pasty, melting slop. Tarn glanced around Prowl’s empty room and smiled, twisting the make up. “And what good timing, you seem to be home alone. I was afraid I might be interrupting.”

Prowl ran scenarios through his head: Trap? No, too obvious. Here to kill Prowl? Also no. Tarn would have done it already. What would drive the Masked Killer to arrive at his door late at night, disheveled, smelling of liquor and drooping of desperation?

“May I come in?” Tarn asked, something needy in his voice that shocked Prowl into stepping back. Tarn let himself in and took his coat off at the door. “Thank you.”

Company. The Masked Killer. Tarn. The man Prowl had been hunting most of his life was there for company.

In a moment of stupidity, surely brought on by the shock, Prowl set his pistol on his side table before bolting his door. Prowl saw Tarn had already helped himself to a seat at Prowl’s table, and he found himself operating on auto pilot. 

Prowl asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yes, please,” Tarn said, dropping his face to his hand. He pulled the hand away and stared at the streak of paste that covered his glove. Tarn snorted and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped off his hand and reached up to wipe the worst of his clumping make up off his face. “Something strong.”

Prowl reached for two glasses as he stared at Tarn’s face. He knew the man had been hiding scars but he had no clue the older man had been hiding so many. Prowl gaped for a full moment before regaining control. Control. He needed every inch of that famous cold reputation he had created for himself. Prowl poured two drinks and set them on the table.

Tarn pulled the glass over and went to drink before he sniffed it. “What is this?”

“Apple juice,” Prowl said, sitting across from Tarn at the table.

“I suppose I deserved that,” Tarn laughed. He sipped the drink. “Why break out brandy for unwanted strangers?”

“If I had it, I would have served it,” Prowl muttered into his glass. He knew that red colored his cheeks as Tarn dropped his jaw and stared at him. Prowl swallowed a sip of his juice. “I’m afraid I’m not one to keep liquor.”

“Remind me to send you some,” Tarn snorted. “For emergencies at the very least.”

“Why are you here, Tarn?” Prowl asked. He pushed his glass aside and set both hands in his lap under the table. “We’re not exactly friends.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Tarn said, holding his glass as he pointed at Prowl. The bitter smile was unmistakable as the man continued. “Because tonight, when I found myself desperately needing someone to talk with about a rather personal issue, I discovered that you are in fact the closet thing I have to a friend in this town.”

“I don’t know which one of us to feel more pity for if that is fact the case,” Prowl said, lifting an eyebrow. “And I’m starting to suspect you had more than enough of liquor before you arrived at my door.”

“Also true,” Tarn said. He tossed back the entire glass of apple juice and set the cup back down on the table. “But the point remains.”

“And what,” Prowl asked slowly, “Is it exactly you need to get off your chest?”

A small part of him hoped it would be an arrestable offense.

“Have you ever been in love, Officer?” Tarn asked, turning his gaze to the window. Prowl turned his head, seeing nothing but the raindrops on his window. He watched Tarn instead. “Broken heart? Anything like that?”

“Both,” Prowl admitted, surprising even himself.

He found himself understanding Tarn’s odd behavior more than he’d like to admit after such a statement.

“I knew you were human under all that regulation of yours,” Tarn said. He smiled, in that same charming way he’d use to tease at parties. The one that said he knew a secret. “A handsome face like yours surely has had a love or two. How about this, I’ll share if you do?”

“I loved once,” Prowl said. He turned his glass on table a half turn to the right. “I thought he felt the same, but when he went and got married to someone else, I found myself rather mistaken. Heartbroken, as you put it.”

“And what did you do to fix it?” Tarn asked.

“I got over it,” Prowl said, tossing back the entire glass of juice. The acidic taste washed down his throat.

Perhaps Tarn had a point with keeping a bottle of something stronger around for these moments.

“It’s nice to know you’re a horrible liar,” Tarn said. He put his elbow on the table, and rested his cheek against his knuckles. Tarn watched Prowl with a longing gaze. “But considering the subject, I’ll forgive you just this once.”

“And you?” Prowl asked.

“I discovered an old affair,” Tarn said. He stood from his desk and walked around to the other side. “And it’s left me quite unsure of myself.”

“An affair?” Prowl asked. He stood, unwilling to sit while Tarn stood. Something was wrong. The air felt tense, and Tarn was drunk. The Masked Killer. Foolish. Prowl was so damned foolish to have opened his door. Prowl searched his counter for a knife or fork. “I’m afraid I don’t have enough details to properly comment.”

“That’s fine,” Tarn said. He faced Prowl, sighing heavily. “I’d much rather right myself with a test of sorts.”

“A test? What—”

Tarn cut Prowl off with a kiss.

Prowl’s back hit his wall as Tarn pushed them both forward. The killer’s lips moved against Prowl’s frozen mouth, his eyes wide and breath halted. Tarn’s hands grabbed his shoulders, hauling him up and pressing his lips harder against Prowl’s. Waiting for a return or a slap.

Prowl found himself rather too stunned by it all to do either.

“You seem out of practice,” Tarn whispered against Prowl’s lips. His voice raw, and full of so much ache that Prowl wondered what looking glass he’d fallen through. Tarn laughed. “Perhaps I should help you?”

Tarn pinched the side of Prowl’s waist and he opened his mouth to reprimand the bastard. Prowl’s mistake. Tarn took advantage, shoving his tongue into Prowl’s mouth and properly shoving Prowl against the wall.

Once upon a time, Prowl had written in his notes that the Masked Killer was unrelenting and unforgiving. Vicious, but clean. He invoked pain in his victims but kept his messes contained and neat. An odd mixture of passion and control that Prowl found himself admiring in the same breath that he desired to strike the man down.

He saw the same in Tarn at parties. A wild beast begging to break free, but hiding it all behind make up and smart quips.

Tarn shoved his thigh between Prowl’s legs, grinding against his crotch and waist. A hand found Prowl’s hip, and squeezed, tugging him up and into Tarn’s waiting arms. All the while, an unrelenting and unforgiving mouth assaulted Prowl’s.

Prowl could feel the bruises forming.

It was an unforgivably long time before Prowl gained control of his senses and slammed the butt of his hand into Tarn’s ear, lodging the man loose from his mouth. Prowl gasped, sucking in a gulp of air before kneeing Tarn in the waist and crawling away.

Prowl wiped away the slick spit from his mouth before rounding the table to keep it between the two of them. Tarn remained near the wall, one hand braced on it. He stared at the spot Prowl had occupied a moment before, looking at nothing. Or rather, something Prowl couldn’t see.

“What was that?” Prowl hissed, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I thought perhaps an eye for an eye would make me feel better,” Tarn said, resting his forehead against the wall. He looked at Prowl and smiled wickedly. “I was wrong.”

“I may not be as experienced as you when it comes to these things,” Prowl said, breathing heavily. “But even I could see that was a foolish idea.”

“Perhaps it was,” Tarn said. He pushed away from the wall and rounded the table. He made no move for Prowl, and passed by him to the the other room. Tarn gathered his coat and chuckled. “I think I’ve bothered you enough for this evening.”

Prowl stayed put, watching the man as he unlatched Prowl’s lock.

Tarn looked over his shoulder and shook his head as he opened the door. “I’ll be sure to send you something nice for humoring an old man.”

When the case of aged brandy arrived at Prowl’s door a week later, he considered it a poor apology.


End file.
